Salt
by tempusborealis
Summary: The word "salt" has many meanings, straight and idiomatic, in the English language. Series of one-shots.
1. Epsom Salt

**Pairing**: None.  
><strong>Rating<strong>: G (K)  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: There'd be plenty of things that would be different if I owned _Haven_, despite its near perfection.  
><strong>Spoilers<strong>: I suppose for "Spiral".  
><strong>Summary<strong>: _Epsom salt_: Magnesium sulfate. Magnesium is alkaline - when used as a fertilizer for hydrangeas, it encourages a change in petal color from blue to pink. Hydrangeas are one of the few plants capable of this change.

Betaed by the lovely lone_pyramid and gagewhitney.

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><p>After the death of his father, Nathan's childhood home felt different.<p>

The first time he'd noticed such a change was the summer after his first year in college. The solid, wood clapboard colonial could fit inside his political science lecture hall at least twice. Spending so much time around buildings of stone or brick had made his family home seem almost primitive. The realization that his existence until then was so relatively small had been a sobering one. It had only given him one more reason to visit home as little as possible. The only motivation he'd had to come at all was the fact that it was filled with artifacts of his childhood, and by extension, his mother.

Now, for the first time in years, he ambled over the slate stones leading to the front door. All these years later, Mom's pride and joy – large, fluffy bushes of hydrangea – still bordered the path. In his memory, vases of cut blooms stood on tables, on counters, and always on her dresser. Sometimes she mixed them with the best of her white peonies, but they were always there.

Lazily, he approached the nearest bush and cupped a spherical cluster of flowers with reverence. They were, and had always been, that unmistakable Cape Cod blue. Vibrant, almost a primary of pastels with just a touch of violet. The ground in Haven was uniformly acidic, so close to the ocean. But one year, Mom had gotten it into her head that she wanted to try for pink flowers. The trick, she'd said, was to make the soil more alkaline. Vera had explained the science of changing a hydrangea's color as she packed Epsom salts around the plants' roots. Nathan had sat Indian style, half understanding (his love for her and her musical voice making up for the rest), cradling a toy spade in his lap. Despite the fact that the plants had never borne pink blossoms, he'd always remembered it as a good day.

Vera, like all residents of this place, should have known better than to fight nature. In a port town, you quickly learned to appreciate the alternate beauty and cruelty of the sea. But earth and flesh could be just as heartless and unforgiving. He'd lost her as sure as the land lost ground to the incoming tide. Nature took what she took.

With a sigh, Nathan allowed the Vermeer flowers to droop toward the stone path. They were doing well, and he thought they added a quaint touch that would come in handy once he was ready to sell. Most of the memories he'd made in this house were with the Chief – awkward, stilted, full of rejection and more than a little hurt. Nevertheless, he felt a twinge at the idea. He knew it wouldn't be feasible to live here himself. It was far too large for one person, though he suspected the Chief had stayed for the same reason he was reluctant to let it go.

Gently rubbing a chalky blue petal between his fingers, Nathan decided to consult Laverne. She'd always had a green thumb. Maybe a few of these plants would stand a better chance for pink blooms in his own garden.


	2. Sea Salt

**Pairing**: Nathan/Audrey.  
><strong>Rating<strong>: G (K)  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: There'd be plenty of things that would be different if I owned _Haven_, despite its near perfection.  
><strong>Spoilers<strong>: None.  
><strong>Summary<strong>: _Sea salt_: Salt produced by the evaporation of seawater, the water of the ocean distinguished from fresh water by its appreciable salinity.

Betaed by the lovely lone_pyramid.

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><p>The first time he saw her swimming, it was sort of an accident. He'd gotten pulled away by the ME in the middle of their interrogation out on the pier. When Stan came to fetch him, Audrey had nodded Nathan away brusquely and he'd gone. He really should have known better. But tendrils of her fair hair flew about her face and she wore a thorny look that told him to handle things, she was on a roll.<p>

It had turned out to be a roll right off the dock.

He saw it out of the corner of his eye as he crouched to examine the body. It was her badge, actually, that caught white light at her hip and spun it out. His eyes tracked over just in time to see a red-faced Burt Flanigan backhand Audrey. Nathan watched with mute surprise as her slender form pinwheeled backwards, her arms and legs akimbo. In the next instant, the smooth surface of the water swallowed her and her color whole. His functional boots were already carrying him toward the spot where she'd gone under when he spotted an indistinct smudge of fluttering gold moving up toward the sun. In a spray of salt water and swears, she surfaced.

Seething in silence, she awkwardly made her way to the ladder. It was an uncomfortably long, painful wait, though in reality it was only a minute or two; everyone was watching her and Flanigan, waiting for one of them to react. One soggy step at a time, Audrey hauled herself up the ladder. Her face was absolutely thunderous and her clothes clung petulantly to her small body. She froze, staring at the ground with a sort of empty, vaguely violent expression. Nathan watched her jaw flex a few times, and then it was as if a switch were thrown. She whirled on her heel, reaching for her handcuffs as she zeroed in on Flanigan. He at least had the good grace to look ashamed as Audrey spun him around and cuffed him with a little more force than strictly necessary. Shoving Flanigan toward Stan, she turned to Nathan. When she did, he wished she'd been rougher with the man; rage ghosted heat across his face as he spied the angry red mark on her cheek where she'd been struck.

A second later it occurred to him that he had some spare clothes in his truck. What with blood, weather, and run-of-the-mill shoe leather, he'd learned to be prepared. He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and in a low voice explained and handed her the keys. With a quick look of silent thanks, she went to dress behind the Bronco. Once she was out of sight, the scene burst forth into action and noise again. Everyone gave him a wide berth. No one dared to laugh.

A few minutes later she emerged, dressed in one of his shirts and a pair of his sweatpants rolled up around her calves and bunched at her waist. Watching her, he felt a sharp stab of arousal. She was bundled up in his clothes, and it was dangerously simple to picture her in front of his fireplace rather than awkwardly scuffing the dirt with wet work shoes while everyone pointedly ignored her. He was the only one even looking in her direction. As if she felt his eyes, she glanced up through strands of wet blonde hair and gave him a quick smile. She hugged herself as she tried to look busy over the corpse, and he thought he could imagine the spectre of another hot blush bloom across his cheeks.

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><p>The second time he saw her swimming, she'd taken him by the hand and led him down the beach.<p>

It had been one of those days where the sky stayed a steely gray. Humidity swirled heavily, making the air seem more solid than usual. No rain ever came, but the anticipation of it seemed to suspend time. As if nothing could be done with the day until it was known for sure.

The beauty of being a cop in a small town was that crime didn't happen every day. It had been a slow Tuesday, as if the weather's indolence had bled the will of the town's petty criminals. And so they'd left work a little early, ignoring the meaningful glances of the people between them and the door.

She'd snatched his keys and shooed him into the passenger seat. Once he'd folded his long legs into the truck, she didn't say a word; regardless, it only took him a few minutes to figure out where they were headed.

October was right around the corner, but Maine didn't seem to care. The air felt heavy in Nathan's lungs as soon as he stepped out of the truck. Just a few steps away, the dull sand stretched away into the distance. It wasn't exactly a beach day; they had the whole place to themselves.

Without meeting his eyes, Audrey tugged off her sensible black shoes. She sighed in pleasure as her toes dug into the sand. He watched her chest fill with the air, tangy with salt and decaying seaweed as she stared out at the water. White teeth gently captured her bottom lip. Haltingly, she shifted her gaze. First it went to where his hands were tucked into his pockets; then it slid up to his chest where she regarded his buttons for a long minute until finally settling on his face. After a moment her eyes dipped back down to his hand. She tentatively reached toward his, and when their skin touched he drew in a sharp breath. He would never get used to it.

Truth be told, he didn't want to.

Cool fingers slid into his and it was all he could do not to sigh in relief. She was just temporary medicine treating the symptoms of his affliction, but he never minded taking her treatment.

With slow, deliberate steps they made their way across the sand. It amazed him how well Audrey had taken to the sea. Coming from a place like Ohio (or at least having the experiences of a native Ohioan), he wouldn't have expected her to like it much. Haven was undoubtedly a sea-town; the culture was of lobstermen, lighthouses, and storm squalls. She'd taken to it like a fish to water. It only made falling in love with her all the easier.

Minutes ticked by in silence. Silently, her hand slipped from his as she picked her way across small pebbles to the water. Glancing back to him, she sent him a grin as she trotted into the low-curling tide. He couldn't help but smirk as she yelped and ran back toward him with the waves, coming into his chest. Muscle memory and fiery affection had him unconsciously wrapping his arms across her back. After a moment, his sense of equilibrium told him something was wrong. Before he knew it she was tugging him with her into the waves.

With all of her strength, she attempted to pull him under. The small stones underfoot shifted with his changed weight. He managed to keep his nose above water, but their momentum resulted in her slipping under the surface. He could only feel her hands; one in his, the other anchoring her to him by his forearm. Hotspots bordered by icy cold in the outline of her fingers. Swimming like this was not, he decided, his favorite activity – she felt too light in his arms, not _there_ enough. He wanted to feel every gram of her body. That way he knew she was real.

Spluttering, she surfaced, and darkened blonde hair lay like a fine net across her elfin features.

Grimacing and chuckling, she attempted to pull the strands from her face. On an impulse, he reached out and touched her hand. She stilled and her smile slowly faded. Heat rushed to his fingertips; he could feel her cold digits sapping his warmth. She felt tacky under the pads of his fingers as the salt dried on her clear skin. One of his hands nestled under her ear, gently tilting her head up. The other gingerly pried the hairs off of her face, smoothing them back and away from her forehead. Ghostly hairs clung to his wet hands. Once he'd finished, her eyes fluttered open to meet his. With a wry smile, he took her hand and led her to a sheltered spot up by the dunes.

Still keeping hold of her hand, he settled himself into the soft sand. As she crossed her legs and lowered herself down, she switched hands, falling down in a sort of half-graceful pirouette. His arm ended up across the back of her shoulders. When she tucked herself into his side, they settled into a wet huddle like roosting plovers. The sand stuck in heavy clumps to their sodden clothing.

By themselves, his fingers combed through her hair. Their progress was hindered by the salt drying her hair in knots. She sighed and let her head fall onto his shoulder. Kissing the top of her head, he allowed his gaze to join hers contemplating the sea.


End file.
